


The Goblin Market

by anniesburg



Category: Bright (2017)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Female Friendship, Fogteeth Clan, Mutual Masturbation, One Night Stands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Sex, orcs with issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 19:43:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14027403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniesburg/pseuds/anniesburg
Summary: Fogteeth parties are wild in every sense of the word.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> shameless porn practice while i figure out my writing style. i hope you like it.

Locke watches the little girl run away, her mouth drawn down into something like horror. It’s late, her grandmother watches from the stoop of a decrepit row house. Looking at him with terror that’s only slightly better-veiled, the old woman reaches her hand out to her granddaughter and ushers her inside. 

Fear the monster, fear that he may be more than he what he seems.

He usually doesn’t give a shit for more than a second. He felt pangs in his chest at being stared at when he was stupid and young, surely not now. He tries to shrug it off, turning to his friend and asking what band’s playing tonight. He gets his answer and lets out a shout of excitement, he’s friends with the drummer. 

Bottles clink against chain and arm as they walk through a densely urban neighbourhood. Locke’s built to outlast a party, and realizes with a snicker that the people around him are far more drunk than he is. Gulping down another beer, he tosses the bottle and it smashes against a wall. 

He straightens his jacket, proud of the sleek finish to the leather and the bright 79 on the back. Locke feels good, better than he has in a while with a burning in his throat from the din his group is making. Tonight will be fun, it’s supposed to be fun. But he blinks and he sees a scared, human child running from him like her life depends on it. He glowers and lumbers on. 

* * *

You have a polished and frightened air that makes you cling tightly to the arm of your friend. Lynn is beautiful, poised and patterned like a pink and green lionfish. Her eyes dark intelligently, her ears pierced all the way from lobe to pointy tip. She insists you dance tonight, you haven’t the heart to refuse her. 

She doesn’t go to Fogteeth parties, usually. She’s busy and so are you, but Lynn is a lover of fun when she can find it and stopped you on your way out of lecture yesterday afternoon. 

“You look like you’re just _dying_ for a good time.” she observed with that infectious tone to her voice. How somebody could be so convincing you’ll never know. Her eyes hold dancing light. If you were sillier, you’d guess magic. 

“I guess,” you replied and with that inch she dragged you a mile. 

“Good, because you and I are going to go somewhere outside the usual realm of boring, college party.” she said, failing to ask you so much as tell you. “Ever heard of the Fogteeth gang? I hear they’re a rowdy bunch.” your eyes widen minutely. You know the name, know the monthly rave a little.

“I don’t know, that stuff’s usually pretty hardcore.” at that, she seems to hesitate. 

“I know, but if we’re together what’s the worst that could happen?” you had to give her that. Lynn’s dependable, kind and smart as a whip. If you were going to go at all, you’d be glad to go with her. 

So you agreed and she promised to make you glow like neon. With makeup applied and hair perfectly curled, you set out arm-in arm. 

She walks a bit slower to you as you reach the front door to the party. The banging music sits comfortable in your head and you can already feel the gentle buzz that will stay there long after the both of you have left. Live music, this may very well be a good time. 

Lynn doesn’t let you go as your IDs’ are both scrutinized by an orc wearing glasses at the door. You’re not sure if he knows who she is, but the bouncer gives her a once-over and a broad smile that has her looking bashful. 

You drink in the scene, the colours and textures assaulting your senses after only a minute inside. There’s a long bar with bottles stacked precariously on shelves. Couches line the walls behind plastic sheets that cover doors, orcs and humans of all shapes and sizes lounging and talking and kissing. Lynn leads you through the linear space, her intelligent eyes gleaming. She spots people she knows but doesn’t leave you. 

The two of you collapse onto a dusty couch, taking up one side of it with your knees touching. To your left, the dance floor is crowded and lively but this side of the party seems a bit more relaxed. 

“Want anything to drink?” Lynn asks, touching your knee and giving you a reassuring smile. Quickly, you nod and she leaves you just as quickly as she settled the two of you here. Her aim is for the bar and you wish her luck in that crowd. 

Beside you, an orc woman with a skin pattern almost as intricate as Lynn’s squirms purposefully in the lap of a large Fogteeth member. His tusks scrape her jugular almost affectionately and you look away from the intimacy quickly.

You’re not sure what’s safe to look at, your eyes finding the oddest things to look at. A little further down, a human woman takes a drink from a bottle of whiskey and smiles at her friend taking a video of it. Brick dust and cans of spray paint litter the floor.

Lynn returns with a red cup filled with what tastes like grain alcohol mixed with blue gatorade. You make a face at her and she bursts into giggles. You take another sip despite your distaste.

Turning your attention to directly across from you, you seem to see the hulking figure on the opposite sofa at the very same time he sees you. You don’t dare to stare at him for very long, either.

* * *

Locke doesn’t trust the smell of you. One more scared, little girl to run away from him amidst a sea of people in a cloud of perfume. He knows how your nerves prick, and watches you pulling at your skirt to make sure it reaches the tops of your thighs. 

He could give you something to fear, he knows that. Locke could make you look how that terrified child did, but how could he? You haven’t done him any harm, other than pressing at an already sore spot with your eyes.

 He just wants to know why you’re there, maybe that’s why he can’t stop staring at you long after you look away. 

Lynn watches him, too, a stony look in her eye. Locke notices her and finds her just as beautiful as you do, striking and dangerous. He watches how she sits so close to you and the way you don’t flinch when she grabs your hand. Leaning in, she whispers a secret in your ear that Locke hasn’t the luxury of catching. 

He watches the two of you go, and crushes a beer can in his hand in frustration. As boring a sight as you might be, a sweet girl in a crowd of unknown fun, he realizes he likes the sight of you all the same. 

* * *

“He was staring,” Lynn says as she leads you through the doorframe. Glancing back, you see the orc’s eyes follow you. Your brow furrows as you try to puzzle out the look on his face. 

“Yeah, but I was staring at him, too.” that doesn’t seem to surprise her, and she rolls her brilliant eyes. You realize she’s leading you towards the dance floor. 

“First mistake. A lot of guys don’t like that, you know.” you nod absentmindedly and finally look towards her. You still have your drink in your other hand and against your better judgement, you chug as much as you can.

He seemed to, you think but decide to keep it to yourself. After exclaiming loudly in your ear that she loves this song, Lynn spins you around and puts her hands on your waist. She starts to move with the music dragging you along a few beats behind. You drop your cup and what little remains of the alcohol spills onto the floor. Nobody seems to notice and you doubt you’re the first to drop something. 

Lynn holds you tight to her form, her mouth near enough to your ear that she can talk to you. Mostly, she sings. She blends the orcish words of this metal song with a human phrase every now and again. Your head is hurting, likely from drinking down booze like a parched college student. Lynn drags you unceremoniously from side to side.

When the song ends, she lets out a loud bark of laughter and steps away from you. 

“I’m going to go get some more of that blue stuff, I left my drink back by the couch. You want another one?” shaking your head after a moment, she shrugs.

“You go ahead, I want to dance.” Lynn nods, squeezing your hand as if to tell you to be safe. You watch her disappear into the crowd.

* * *

Locke watches your body twist against Lynn’s. Your hair was in your eyes but still, you dance like you’re not afraid anymore. Your smell is changed, but he can’t pick it out among the throng of fists and forms. There’s so much noise but you stand out with so much clarity. 

The song ends and you’re left alone, but he still can’t bring himself to walk up and ask you to dance. Maybe it’s him you’re afraid of, he thinks. Maybe Lynn’s the grandmother in this situation. He knows her to be a tough woman but you are such a mystery. 

All of a sudden, you turn. Your eyes nearly burn him as they stare through the haze. How you found him so effortlessly, he doesn’t know but still his feet refuse to move. 

Your hair’s no longer in your eyes, it’s fanned out behind you and you watch him instead. It’s like you realized your fear was doing you no good here and you discarded it. He feels a tug somewhere in his chest when you smile at him. 

Locke doesn’t know how to respond when you lift your soft-looking, human hand and wave at him. Is he the one struck by uncertainty now?

He thinks back to the retreating form of the little girl, her look of horror. He sees no horror in you now, and Locke’s eyes widen when he realizes that you’re actively moving closer to him. 

* * *

You don’t know what’s drawing you again to that same, big orc you saw when you arrived. It’s not been very long and somewhere in the back of your buzzed brain wonders if he wants to dance with you.

He’s good looking, you realize with a burst of laughter at seemingly nothing. His cheekbones are wide and sharp, his yellow eyes are smouldering with hazy shock. You like the way he looks at you, like he might just eat you. You’re nobody’s meat and he seems to understand that. 

His tusks nearly reach the same height as the bottom of his nostrils, but they’re not as sharp as stereotyping would suggest. They give him sort of sneer, but you’re no longer struck by how much he seems to distrust you. He looks interested now, and he stays put. 

Someone pushes you, knocking you slightly off balance but your footing holds. Looking up, you shake the humming from your head and find that your admirer is closer than he was before, staring angrily at the man who shoved you. Your smile returns and you reach out.

You touch his arm, just gently and drag your fingers over the leather. His head snaps towards you, eyes bright and cloudless, yellow as the moon. He sees its you and those beautiful eyes drop to your hand. 

“Hi.” you say, having to project your voice over the noise.

“Hey.” he replies and the sound of his voice fills you with butterflies. It’s not as deep as you’d have guessed it to be, although it’s somewhat distorted— likely by his own inebriation. 

You give him your name and he tells you to call him Locke. You loop your arm around his and he starts to walk back towards the couches. Away from the bustle and the deafening base, you can hear him better.

“You ever been to a Fogteeth party?” he asks you and you shake your head. Momentarily, you glance back towards the throng and think you spot Lynn still standing by the bar. 

“It’s my first time, be gentle.” you reply before tossing your head back and laughing like you told the funniest joke in the world. He pauses a moment, leaning against the decaying brick of the wall before he smiles. 

“I’m just glad you’re having fun. Humans can sometimes get— nervous.” you shake your head.

“I’m not nervous any more. I was when we had our staring contest but now I’m so happy I let Lynn drag me here!” your enthusiasm seems to shock and delight him in equal measure. The fact that you haven’t let him go yet has a similar effect. 

“Good, good. Yeah, about the staring— sorry if I freaked you out. I just don’t know why some people come to these parties. Then Lynn came back and—” you cut him off by raising your hand, bringing it down softly on his bicep with a wider smile. 

“You know Lynn? Isn’t she the coolest.” he nods. 

“Yeah, she’s all right. And I thought she was the life of the party.” you blink, slowly and your head falls back so you can look him in the eye. Locke has to be close to six-foot-six.

“Huh? Who is it if it’s not her? She’s really fun.” again, you look over your shoulder to try and find her. She’ll be worried if you’re gone. 

“Lynn’s fun and all but I have never seen a human dance like you do.” a furious blush touches your cheeks, mostly due to the way he leans in when he says it. The way he set it up, it’s like he wants to tell you a secret. He lingers, too, watching how your eyes trace his features. 

“I— I don’t usually dance. There’s just something about the music, it sticks to your bones.” you shrug, the gesture indelicate and sloppy. “and you just have to dance.” he seems to like that description, and the way you’re looking at him.

He doesn’t seem hungry any more, only like he’s really seeing you for the first time. I want to be here, you think as loud as you can. You hope it shines out your eyes. You like being here with him more than you thought you would.

“Actually, I—” if he was going to say something, he stops dead to listen to you. You lean in again as he leans back, your impish smile curling up on your painted mouth. “I was going to ask if you wanted to dance.” 

Surprise colours his face and you don’t give him time to respond beyond a nod. Pulling him gently by his arm, you know that if he didn’t want to, nothing could push him from his place. 

The song seems to push the air in the room higher and higher. There’s almost no space to breathe as the two of you re-enter the chaos that is the dance floor. He keeps you close, but not too close. Your hands are on his forearms, your head rhythmically nodding. 

As you look up, you realize Locke is staring at you again. A smile splits your face and after a moment, his matches yours. 

“Closer,” you say but you doubt he can hear you. Illustrating your wishes, you step forward and place his forearms on your waist. Your hands come to rest on his biceps again and, slowly, you encourage him to move with you. 

Neither of you look away this time, your chest very close to touching his. He seems to just be following what you do, and that’s fine in your opinion. 

The spell, if you can call it that, breaks just slightly around the edges when you hear someone shout your name. Turning your head, you see Lynn near the edge of the crowd. Lifting a hand, you point at Locke and give your friend a thumbs up. She rolls her eyes, gesturing for you to call her as you disappear. 

“She’s not going to be alone, is she?” Locke asks and you look back up at him.

“No, no. I’ll text her and we can meet up with her later. She has lots of friends here.” you smile with more confidence then you’ve ever felt in your life. Rather than put your hand back where it was, you place it on his chest. His heart is beating wildly, you can feel it even under the thick leather of his jacket. “Now I’ve got two friends, Lynn’ll have competition.” 

“Just friends, you and me, huh?” he grunts but you get the feeling it’s not really a question. Your hand slides up, up, up the expanse of his chest and hooks around his neck. High heels give you a slight height advantage but it’s not enough. To remedy this, you lean up again, pressing yourself against his chest so your face is nearer to his.

“Well, I think you’re handsome.” you say, and are immediately pleased with the results.

* * *

Locke is fine with being fuck-ugly, he’s used to it. He has no problem getting it from pretty, orc girls but has become rather content with the idea that soft humans don’t find nearly three-inch tusks all that appealing.

He doesn’t know whether to laugh in your face or haul you up and kiss you. You’re breakable, despite your overzealous desire to have fun. He could hurt you, he remembers. He could turn that joy to fear. He refuses to. He doesn’t laugh, the look in your eyes is far too serious for his own self esteem to destroy. Instead, Locke’s eyes widen a fraction and his smile is flirtatious. 

You seem to like that, he keeps it up.

“Is that what you think?” he asks over the noise. Leaning down a touch so you’re not grasping at him in danger of falling, he readjusts his grip on your waist. His arms fully encircle you, strong enough to lift you up, off the ground.

With a peal of laughter that sets his heart racing, you’re suddenly looking down on him and you’re even more beautiful. 

“Yeah.” you say with so much truth behind a monosyllabic response. Now safely held by him, you lift a hand from his neck to the side of his face. 

“Very handsome.” you repeat. He feels the need to match you in intensity, but english doesn’t fit in his mouth as easily as it does yours. 

“You’re pretty.” he rasps instead and is rewarded by your deeper blush. “I thought so since the second you walked in.” 

He likes it when you smile, Locke decides and the way you do just then makes him want to repeat it. You’re pretty, you’re so pretty. But he stays silent, waits for your reaction.

“You’re drunk.” you say to him and he shakes his head. 

“No way. Okay, I’ve had four beers but that’s usually what I’m supposed to say to you.” he did that on purpose, a little bit. Not the best-crafted joke he’s ever told, but if it gets you laughing it’s worth it. It pays off. 

“Not this time.” you reply. 

“Listen, when girls start telling me this ugly mug is _handsome_ , I know they’re close to shit-faced.” the minute gesture of you shaking your head catches him off guard, as does your leaning down. You kiss his forehead, just once and so gently he finds himself again at a loss of what to do.

“Not ugly.” you say, kissing him again and his chest tightens. “and I’m not shit-faced. I had _a_ drink.”

“Could fool me.” he says, his voice rougher now around the edges. If he intended to say anything further, the words fall out of his head as you draw your knee up the side of his left leg. 

Leaning forward again, Locke half expects another kiss to his brow. Instead, your aim is much, much lower and you carefully kiss his lips between his tusks. His face grows warm and he’s more than happy that the splotches of green across his cheeks hide a blush the way yours cannot. Your mouth is off his too quickly, in his opinion. 

“What was that?” he asks, but there’s a teasing tone to his voice that isn’t lost on you. 

“A kiss.” now he rolls his eyes, nearly looking like Lynn. 

“Well, yeah,” he begins. “why?” you lift an eyebrow. 

“Because I want you.” is your very loud reply, as if the answer to the question was obvious. Locke’s breath hitches in his throat. 

“Really? Bad enough to take this upstairs?” he looks around at the mob of people surrounding you. You’re not even the tallest one among them. After barely a moment of consideration, you nod.

“Yes,” you say. “I want to take you upstairs.” that’s all he needs to hear. His strength doesn’t falter as he carries you away towards the stairs. 


	2. Chapter 2

Wide eyes follow you and Locke as he sets you down at the base of the stairs. You’re surprised but not outwardly so that beds are provided for the two total activities to be done in them that spring to your mind. 

He seems to hesitate, just as you climb two of the stairs. You don’t hear him behind you, or feel his warmth and you turn. Locke stands at the bottom of the steps, his eyes worried and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He looks at you like a curiosity he can’t bring himself to touch. 

Without thinking, you extend your hand out to him. The gesture seems natural to you, warm and inviting. When he does not immediately reach to take it, you sigh. 

“I’m sure about this,” you begin. “are you?” his face contorts as if he’s asking himself again if he wants to take the step. He takes your hand, and it’s nothing like your own. His palms are scarred and rough, pink on the palms. His knuckles look like Pollock painted them. A smile, delicate and warm lights up your face. “That’s what I thought.” 

Your eyes on him, you lead him up the stairs. Oblivious to whatever’s happening around you, you turn on your heel on the sixth step and pull on his arm. You’ve never been one for haste but freedom, real freedom to choose your company has always elicited excitement in you that’s difficult to repress. 

“You’re going to pull my fuckin’ arm out of its socket.” Locke grumbles at you, less out of annoyance and more to make you stop. You don’t know where you’re going, doors line the walls and behind them are shouts and cries. The occasional snore mingled within does nothing to deter your imagination. You do stop, as Locket wants you to and he decides he also wants you pressed against the wall. 

Between two doors, you lift your head to look at him. His eyes are murky, lusful and boring into yours. He nudges his face close to you and lean forward, kissing him. That seems to be the reaction he was waiting for, every move you make first taking a weight off his shoulders. 

“Mm,” you mumble when he pulls away. Your hand finds his cheek again, almost like a second nature. “so handsome.” his hand covers yours and he rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah,” now he leads you by the arm, his pressure so gentle that it’s shocking. “let’s get a room.” Down the hall, you follow close at his heels. The lighting here is even worse than downstairs, but the flickering fluorescents don’t scare you. 

At long last, he finds somewhere suitably empty of outside company. Without even bothering to knock on the faded wood of the door, Locke grips the handle and forces his way in. The bedroom is nearly bare but for an unkempt mattress on an iron frame. Boards cover the windows, providing more privacy than you expected. 

“It’s kind of a dump.” he says, pausing in the doorway. He doesn’t let go of your hand and you give him a shrug. 

“It’s kind of free, and I don’t think anyone who’s ever fucked has cared about the conditions when they’ve got good company.” Locke pauses a beat before his toothy smile makes his eyes crinkle.

“Whatever you say. If you’re happy, I’m happy.” something about the oddness of his words makes your smile widen. There’s a truth to them you hadn’t expected, sincerity that even drunkenness can’t fabricate. 

Smiling, you let him pull you past the threshold. Your other hand closes the door with a loud bang. Taking the opportunity to get closer to him, you press your chest against Locke’s

“So,” you say, your hands still entwined at his side, “are you going to take care of me?” 

His laugh is remarkably soft, beginning like the hitching of breath. He can’t believe his luck, you suppose. Or maybe no one’s paid attention to him like this before, the thought makes you quite sad. 

Locke is barrel-chested, strong under his jacket. You push your hand under the fabric, taking the pivotal first step towards undress. The gesture seems to shock him into a state of clarity, and his wolf-smile is inviting as you temporarily expose his skin. 

Shrugging off his jacket, it falls in a heap on the floor. While you busy yourself with tracing the markings on his chest, he reaches out and runs his fingers through your hair. The perfectly-done curls are long-gone now, frizzed from heat and motion. 

The sound of your hearts beating and your lungs desperate to inhale more than air drowns out the ruckus downstairs. Lynn is dancing somewhere, probably, you realize. You’re dancing too, just in a different way.

* * *

There are no borders for Locke to cross, no part of you that you reveal to be disingenuous. You smell like human warmth, soft to the touch and wanting so much. How such small hands can be everywhere at once is a mystery to him. 

The sensation is new and he’s embarrassed by it. The way his skin reacts to your touch isn’t weakness, it is a surprise. Human women are mysterious in their own ways, sturdy and delicate. You’re smaller than him but assume control with ease and grace.

Locke’s breathing is soon impaired, shallow and rapid. He wants it at badly as you do, he can smell it on you. Your insistence makes him relent, makes him pull his shirt off over his head and cast it aside. Now naked in front of you, he feels your eyes rove his frame like— not appraisal but appreciation. Your smile makes him want to squirm. 

To distract you, he kisses you again. He’s bolder in his advances, claiming your mouth with his and pressing his hands to the back of your head. A part of him is too fond of the way you were staring at him, emotions bumping around in your eyes that were too complicated for what this is. 

He almost bites your lip when your hand lowers to his hip, and then his groin. A small, impatient hand gropes at him and he sighs into the kiss. Pulling away just slightly, his eyes find your wicked grin.

“You’re a pervert,” he says, his voice implying that he’s perfectly all right with it. With more skill than Locke thought he had, he reaches behind you and grabs the tiny zipper on the back of your dress. He slides it down. “but so am I.”

He watches you take your arms from the sleeves. Your dress drops in a pool around your ankles and leaves you in a state similar to his own. He makes a noise in the back of his throat as he looks at you, one of admiration rather than approval. If you’ll extend that kindness to him, he thinks it only best to do the same. 

“My turn.” his chest rumbles and his hand comes to rest on your stomach. Your skin is so soft, it nearly shocks him. His hand stutters like electricity runs in your veins rather than blood, but he rights himself. Locke drags the tip of his finger from the centre of your torso to the edge of your plain bra. 

He doesn’t concern himself with what you’re wearing, not when what’s underneath is so remarkable. Completely smooth skin, uniform in colour and covered in a faint dusting of hair, what a concept. He smirks at the sensation, at the way you seem to shiver, now. 

“You’re going to have to help me,” he says as his hand fully rests on the curve of your breast. “I don’t really know how to—” he squeezes and you sigh. It’s a moment before your head clears enough to understand what he wants you to do.

“It’s okay, most guys don’t know how to get a bra off.” your smile is less lustful, more amused as you reach behind you. With practice that the years have given you, you undo the clasp on your bra and shrug it off as well. Locke’s hand is off you for the full two seconds it takes to reveal your bare breast to him. His hands are on both, exploring the instant he’s able to. 

* * *

You return your hands to his now-evident erection. While you’re sure you helped coax him awake, warmth blossoms on your cheeks as you feel him. He’s long, but thinner than the average, human man. 

You have about as much experience with orcs as it seems he does with humans, because his warm hands haven’t left your skin since you invited him to touch. He grunts every so often, usually just after you feel him twitch around your hand. 

It’s when you shiver from the cold that he pulls you closer, your chest pressed close to his stomach. His arms are around you, his hands following the arch of your back, the curve of your ass. You giggle involuntarily when he squeezes you there, looking up in mock-annoyance. 

“You’re too tall,” you say, instead of reprimanding his wandering hands. “lie down. I want to take my heels off.” he looks at you for a moment, likely trying to decide if you’re serious. After a moment, he seems to find his answer and reluctantly lets you go. Even more reluctantly, he steps away from your hand deftly touching his stiff cock. 

Undoing his belt as you step out of your high heels, he stands at the edge of the bed. Unceremoniously, he shucks off his pants and boxers. Locke stops short when he feels you behind him. He hasn’t noticeably flinched until now, but he retracts just slightly from you as you press kisses up the line of his spine. You needn’t remind him what you asked him to do, he lies down after a moment. 

His cock is quite nice, you have to admit. Now that you see it well enough to tell, the size seems accurate to what you felt. The head’s flushed purple, begging to be touched and you waste no time. Sinking down onto the bed beside him, you wrap your hand around him. 

The reaction is immediate. He watches your face as you stroke him, eyes downcast and impish. Locke reaches up, brushes your hair behind your neck and pulls you down next to him. His fingers brush the waistband of your panties and he looks up as if asking permission. Without hesitation, you nod. 

Lifting your hips to help him, Locke slides your panties down your thighs and encourages your legs to part. You do and he exhales at the sight. At least orc-human anatomy is compatible, and maybe that thought is what makes him smile.

“Pretty.” he says, running his hand up your thigh. Propping yourself up on your elbow, he touches between your legs. Sighing yourself, your grip tightens around his cock. You feel his groan in your bones as he presses his middle finger to your clit. 

His pace is eager, not as slow as some might start. You find the suddenness of the act appealing and find yourself watching his face. He’s looking down at you, eyes roving your body like he’s hungry. He licks his lips, brow furrowed in concentration, it’s almost sweet. 

You don’t know if you expected such thorough foreplay. He traces the circumference of  your clit with his finger, desperately trying not to press too hard. His gentleness is more than admirable. You work your hand up and down his shaft, touching veins and ridges before circling your thumb over the dark head. He bucks and you flounder for air. 

It’s after a few minutes that you begin to tire, and it’s clear that Locke isn’t the type to take command. You lean in closer to him, the air between you is charged. Kissing his jaw, and then his neck you urge him to fill you with his fingers. Filthy and adoring invitations seem to be all he needs. He sinks his thick index finger inside of you, and then his middle not too long after.

* * *

Head thrown back and eyes closed, you look like one of those marble statues. Humans covet ancient things, just the same as orcs but Locke doubts that any of the great masters could properly translate your perfect expression into stone.

Every inch of you is hot and alive, the muscles inside you bearing down on his fingers. He curls and twists, finds spots that he knows exist in orc women with desirable effect. You buck your hips now as well, grip around him faltering. You seem to have forgotten to stroke but he doesn’t care, Locke instead thrusts into your hand. 

You moan a proper, loud moan when he removes his fingers from you. The sound is heaven and he feels his cock stiffen. He stops moving his hips, one of his fingers fluttering over your clit. You open your eyes and give him the glare of a lifetime. 

“I was close.” you say, sounding almost disappointed. He kisses you again as you let go of his dick.

“Lie back,” he says, moving so you have enough room to. With very little hesitation, you do and Lock pushes himself up to sit. “spread your legs.” you do and he settles between them. One muscled arm on either side of you, he lowers himself to his elbows. 

He’s close enough to kiss, and you do. You peck his lips softly, just once. He can’t read your expression as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

* * *

“You’re quite beautiful, did I tell you that?” you ask without asking. He tenses again, as you did when you kissed his spine. His expression matches yours in terms of foggy and unreadable. He dips his head, nips at your neck instead of searching for an answer. 

He draws his head back, reaching over the edge of the bed and grabbing his pants. From the back pocket, he retrieves a condom and tears open the packaging. You look down, between your spread knees and watch him slide it on that devastatingly long cock. 

“Tell me if it hurts,” he says as he moves to cover your body with his again. His arms don’t seem to trap you, not in the least. “I’ll stop, I promise I’ll stop.” you nod and lift one of your legs, wrapping it around his waist and encouraging him to slide into you. When you’re pulling him closer to you by criss-crossed ankles locked around his lower back, he obliges. 

It doesn’t hurt, he’s no thicker than you’re used it. Locke does, however, feel very good. He’s warm and hard and unrelenting, pushing into you when he feels no resistance. It seems, though, that his concern persists even when you voice no complaints. His eyes rove your face again, looking for any signs of discomfort. 

“You feel amazing.” you say, more because it’s the truth than a way to comfort him. He grunts in response, seeming to have difficulty at staying quiet. More of him fills you, an impossible amount and you let out another moan. There isn’t any use in trying to stay quiet, you realize. Nobody is going to hear him except for you, and that’s exactly how you like it. 

It’s when he begins to thrust, however, that you realize you truly can’t shut up. Your eyes squeeze closed, gasps and moans leave your mouth like you’re communicating in a different language. Looking up in embarrassment at the silent expression of Locke, you blush and shut your mouth. 

“Hey,” he says, slowing his pace. You press the pads of your fingers into the back of his neck, firmly attempting to tell him that if he stops you’ll scream from the frustration of it all. “something wrong? You don’t have to go quiet?” he senses your insistence and his hips pick up the pace.

“No?” you ask, almost dazed. He shakes his head. 

“I like the noise.” and with that, he lowers his head to your neck again, kissing the soft flesh of your jugular as if asking you for sounds. You oblige, moaning in his ear as he rocks inside you.

Can he feel the intense heat building in your stomach? Surely the quick beat of your heart is known to him, with his mouth so close to your throat. Blood soars through your veins as you remember to breathe. Your toes curl. 

Locke urges from you a blinding orgasm, you can see the light even behind your closed eyes. When you come, he finally seems to realize he’s been silent. His quiet breathing becomes more ragged, grunts and groans silenced by his mouth kissing marks onto your skin. 

“Fuck—” you whine as you clench down around him. His head lifts when you whisper his name, but there’s nothing that you want to ask him. Locke is the only thing that enters your mind as your legs shake minutely. Locke, Locke, Locke. You repeat it and for a moment he’s concerned, until you smile and it becomes clear. You hear your name, gruff and more familiar from him than you would’ve expected. 

Your eyes open, your hands start to explore the body of your lover as he works towards his own competition. Every so often, a thrust catches on somewhere sensitive inside of you that makes you swoon, but for the most part you’re able to concentrate on what you’re seeing. His back is covered with scars, a thick and jagged one on the shoulder where your chin rests. He doesn’t seem to notice you tracing it. 

He comes with a huff, burying his face in your hair and moaning so loudly that the walls could shake. You run your fingers along the back of his neck as he goes limp, your legs releasing his hips. He mumbles something into your ear that you almost miss. It’s your name, he says it a final time before sighing and going still on top of you.

Locke is heavy, but not unbearably so. You wrap your arms tightly around him, refusing to let him go when his own insecurities insist that he move. He draws back only for a second, to the defiant shake of your head and pleading look in your eyes. Stay, you ask without opening your mouth.

You’ll text Lynn later, dodge questions about the size of him and how good of a fuck he was. For now, you close your eyes and Locke does as well. That night, you sleep soundly with a monster in your arms. 


End file.
